


Where Do We Go From Here

by cassie_black



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Pre-Slash, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 03:18:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8187562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassie_black/pseuds/cassie_black
Summary: Rash decisions have always been Harry's forte, and this time is no exception.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Hex Files](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Hex_Files), which was closed for financial and health reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Hex Files collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thehexfiles/profile).

**Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

There were times when Harry could cheerfully strangle Ron, he decided. Not that he hadn't willingly volunteered to come and meet Hermione off the Hogwarts Express – it had been a long time since Christmas, and Harry had missed her desperately. But _this_ , the spectacle they were making because Ron had insisted on wearing his trainee Auror robes to impress her, and then had whinged until Harry had caved and done the same, this was the sort of thing that made Harry plot his friend's demise in a variety of colourful ways.

The looks they'd got on the platform in King's Cross had been bad enough, but the sight of Harry Potter wearing Auror robes (albeit those of a probationer) on platform 9 ¾'s had caused such a flurry of excitement amongst the assembled crowd that they had barely noticed the arrival of the train carrying their loved ones.

The stares and the pointing were bad enough, but somewhere along the line, people had decided it was okay to talk loudly _about_ Harry when he was standing right there next to him. There was little point in Harry avoiding the _Prophet's_ daily dissection of his life, if complete strangers were just going to repeat the juiciest parts in clarion tones.

Not that the juiciest parts bore the remotest resemblance to Harry's actual life. Post war and Hogwarts, there was nothing vaguely juicy about his life.

Added to that, he was hot and bothered, his temples had been throbbing since the moment he'd woken up, and he'd been in the worst kind of mood for what felt like days now – Harry did _not_ want to be there.

Ron, on the other hand, was rather enjoying the attention –there was a good chance he'd never take his uniform off, if it was down to him. The grin on his friend's face did little to ease Harry's grumpiness, and he was just pondering the merits of tipping Ron off the side of the platform, when Hermione emerged from the train to distract him.

If it was possible, Ron's grin grew even bigger, and even Harry didn't have to force the smile currently on his face. The sight of Draco Malfoy at Hermione's elbow, chatting away easily as if they were old friends didn't bother Harry as much as he suspected it should – or once would have – instead he enjoyed the blustering expression of outrage on Ron's face, and decided maybe the trip had been worth it after all.

Hermione and Malfoy had barely said their goodbyes before Ron was marching her off the platform, demands for explanations hot on his lips. 

Harry didn't want to see his friends fight, but there was something almost comforting in its familiarity. Harry watched them walk away for a moment or two – deciding that staying out of the way was definitely the best course of action. Only, seconds later he realised his miscalculation because he was left with Malfoy. Alone.

"Potter."

"Malfoy."

The awkwardness that followed was less than pleasant, and Harry cursed Ron afresh for his current attire – no doubt it looked like glory-hunting to Malfoy.

"You joined the Aurors, then?"

It was a redundant question really. _Everyone_ knew Harry had joined the Aurors. Hell, the _Prophet_ had done a week-long series on it after he'd signed up, complete with psychological profile, and a Ministry-sanctioned photographer stalking his P.T. classes. Harry had _not_ been impressed – his many fans, on the other hand, had been only too happy.

Some of his disbelief at the question obviously leaked into his expression, because Malfoy huffed in response. "Fine," he said, with what, on anyone else, Harry would have called a pout. "You try making small talk then. It's not as easy as it looks – especially not between us."

Harry wasn't the chattiest of people at the best of times, but the prospect of making polite small talk with someone he had never really exchanged more than insults just left his mind blank.

"See." There was just the hint of smugness in Malfoy's tone. "Not as easy as it looks."

The conversation lapsed then, but neither of them moved away. It was hard not to be aware of the interested stares they were garnering – Harry Potter alone was a subject of interest, but the sight of him willingly conversing (or standing next to at any rate) Draco Malfoy, without insults or fists flying, was sight to behold.

Malfoy seemed aware of this because he shifted awkwardly, his eyes warily taking in their observers. "Look, Potter," he began, and then cleared his throat before continuing. "I'm not sure I ever properly thanked you for what you did for my mother. And for me, too."

Harry shrugged, hoping it appeared somewhat nonchalant. He hated this part. "You did," he replied. "After the trial."

Malfoy looked up and met his gaze now, expression somewhat rueful. "Maybe. But I'm not sure I actually meant it at the time."

The laugh that escaped Harry then took him by surprise as much as it did Malfoy. 

Malfoy's expression was a mixture of relief and wry amusement at Harry's response, and he obviously decided it was safe to continue. "I was glad we were freed, obviously. But no one likes to be beholden, Potter, and especially not to someone they once considered an enemy."

Harry nodded slowly. That made sense. Especially from someone with as much obvious pride as Malfoy. Then the latter part of the sentence registered. "Once?" he queried. "You mean you don't anymore?"

"No, Potter." This time Malfoy did smile just a little – it was an expression Harry was certain had never been directed at him before. "I don't think we're quite at best friends yet, but I no longer consider you an enemy."

It wasn't a topic Harry gave much thought to really. In fact, he'd only thought of Malfoy in passing since the end of the trials. But his reaction to this was very definitely relief. "What changed?"

"I got some perspective."

-*-*-*-

It was clear from the light that streamed through cracks in the curtains that Harry had slept away the best part of the morning. The loud clanging of pans from the kitchen merely confirmed this, and also warned Harry that Kreacher had decided to crank his new-found passive-aggression up a notch or two.

The last thing Harry wanted to do was get up and face the rest of the day, but lazing in bed no longer held the pleasure it once did. With a reluctant sigh, Harry flung the covers back and, bare-footed, made his way across the stripped wooden floor to the bathroom.

The ice cold water from the old pipes helped him to feel a little more alive, but the reflection staring back at him when he finally got his glasses settled, looked tired, old even. The dark circles were the result of restless – and limited – sleep, and the look in his eyes, though indefinable, was something Harry was becoming all too familiar with.

Ron had been easy enough to misdirect on the few occasions he'd noticed Harry's appearance, and there was no one else really looking. But Hermione was back now, and nothing got past her, and Harry resigned himself to another course of Dreamless Sleep if he wanted to avoid the third degree and questions he couldn't, or didn't want, to answer.

Breakfast was quiet affair – it always was lately – heavy with Ron's absence and Kreacher's disapproval. At least the elf had thought to put a warming charm on Harry's porridge – usually a sign he would be forgiven by evening.

Part of Harry relished the fact he could read the paper without having to wrest it from anyone else first, but the other, more prominent part of him was too busy noticing how big and empty the old house felt now he was on his own once more.

They'd spent the previous day moving Ron and Hermione into their new flat; something Harry's muscles were very much protesting after the event. Their new home was small and cramped and basic, and Harry couldn't for the life of him see why they didn't just live together at Grimmauld Place like he had suggested. But his friends were happy and so excited and not even Molly Weasley's disapproval could dampen their spirits, so Harry wasn't going to either. He humped boxes with a pasted-on smile and acted for all the world like he was happy for them.

Which he was.

Really.

It was just that he was starting to feel a little overwhelmed by the sense of being left behind. The feeling that everyone else knew what they were doing, and were moving towards it, while Harry was standing still.

-*-*-*-

Misery loved company, so Harry had heard. And he thought this probably was the best explanation for why he spent so much of his time with George Weasley. Ron might be his best friend, always would be, but the Harry left behind at the end of the war had different needs to the one before.

George still hadn't come to terms with his twin's death. And the Weasleys, though they loved him, seemed unsure of how to deal with the depth of his grief. Even Harry could see how hard it must be to look daily on the image of the very thing that you had lost – but he could also see how this would be ten times harder for George.

Not that he wasn't trying. The shop was open again, and George had finally moved back into the flat above. In what was becoming a bit of a theme with him, Harry had offered a room at Grimmauld Place, but George had muttered something about facing his demons and declined. 

Not that Harry was there for entirely unselfish reasons. George was the only one who didn't press Harry to talk about his _feelings_ , or ask about his plans for the future. And what Harry really needed right now was to be around someone who didn't keep asking _what next_ , because the truth was he had no idea. And the less exposed his floundering was, the happier Harry would be. 

The trouble was, the future he'd always assumed he would have had turned out to be fool's gold. Ginny was gone, happy in her new relationship, and the reality of Auror training left little more than the bitter taste of disappointment in Harry's mouth. He was starting to suspect he had only clung so tenaciously to this vision of his future out of the very real fear that he would not get to have one at all.

So lunch at the Leaky had become a thing. Something he and George fitted in as often as their busy schedules would allow. Ron sometimes joined them, but that was 'before Hermione', or _B.H._ as George had taken to calling it – to Harry's amusement and Ron's ire. 

There was another advantage to spending time with George, Harry found as time went by: When they ate together, people were less inclined to approach him, to bother him for pictures and autographs or just to tell him about their single female relatives that he really ought to meet. Over the last year George had earned a reputation for being somewhat volatile, and there was nothing like the ever-present aura of grief around him to keep people away. There was the odd brave soul who tried, but they were unceremoniously turned away without Harry having to utter a syllable.

Secretly Harry couldn't help but wonder how this affected business at the shop, but he knew he'd never actually ask.

"Hungry?" Harry asked, and watched in amusement as George practically inhaled his lunch.

"Yes," George replied, somewhat muffled around the mouthful of pasty. He swallowed hard and then added, "Had to open the shop this morning and didn't have time for breakfast."

"No Verity?" Harry knew George rarely dragged himself out of bed in time to open up these days.

"Wedding dress shopping." George scowled slightly before stabbing his fork at the chips in front of him.

"Ah." Harry didn't need further explanation – he'd heard enough about Verity's impending nuptials on one of his many visits to the shop. "Can't be long away now?"

"Feels like bloody forever, all the nattering she does about flower arrangements and wedding favours."

"Any luck finding a replacement for her yet?" It was a sore point and Harry knew it. Verity had been with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes since the beginning, and he knew George felt losing her was just like losing one more tie to the past, and to Fred.

"No." The reply was short and gruff and George didn't even look up as he spoke.

"Did you at least advertise?" Harry didn't want to interfere, but sometimes George just needed a little prodding out of his apathy.

George looked up this time and Harry was relieved to see he didn't look annoyed. "I put a note up," he said, with a vague nod towards the notice board at the side of the dingy bar.

It wasn't exactly what Harry would have called advertising, but he decided against pushing further – the least he could do was return the favour that George extended to him. "You got time for another drink?"

George quickly gulped the last of his beer then held the empty glass out for Harry to take. "Sure. I've left Ginny in charge of the shop." He stopped short then, a guilty expression on his face.

"You can say her name." Harry tried to keep the exasperation out of his tone. "It's been months now, and I'm not in bloody mourning!" It was Harry's turn to look guilty then, but as he opened his mouth to apologise, George waved him off.

"Beer," he demanded. "And grab me a bag of nuts while you're about it."

Harry took him at his word, but it didn't stop him mentally cursing his stupidity all the way to the bar. Nor did it make him watch where he was going.

"Oof!"

"Watch it!" Harry snapped as he struggled to hang onto the glass in his hand. A quick look up then had Harry cursing even harder. He really didn't have the energy to deal with Draco Malfoy right then.

Only Malfoy didn't say anything straight away. There were no insults or smart remarks, and when he did open his mouth it was only to say a simple "Sorry."

Apart from their brief meeting at King's Cross a few weeks before, Harry hadn't seen or spoken to Malfoy since his trial. Hermione was insistent that he'd changed, that he wasn't the same vile ferret they'd once know – as much as Harry trusted his friend's judgement, this was _Malfoy_ and he couldn't be sure. As for Ron, on the other hand, he'd suggested it was the work of _Imperious_ and offered to check his girlfriend for mind-control spells.

"Malfoy." Harry acknowledged him with a nod, then stepped backwards as he realised how close he was standing. "This is one of the last places I would have expected to see you."

"You and the rest of them," Malfoy replied bitterly, with a nod at the rest of the room.

Usually Harry avoided making eye contact with strangers, so he hadn't noticed the glares until Malfoy pointed them out. 

"You're living here?" he asked after a moment. Though it was really more of a statement than a question, because Malfoy had just emerged from the door to upstairs.

"Yes." There was a definite defiance to Malfoy's tone as he replied, almost daring Harry to say more.

"How come?" Harry didn't mean to pry, not really, but he was only human. "I mean, your parents, they didn't..." He tailed off and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand – uncertain how to phrase the question.

Malfoy watched him for a moment, a hint of amusement playing over his face. "Nothing so dramatic as that," he said finally. "Would you believe it if I said I just felt like a change of scenery?"

Harry's expression obviously conveyed that no, he would not.

Malfoy let out a sharp laugh in response and shook his head. "I didn't think so." He paused, and glanced nervously round the room before continuing. "Look, Potter, you spent a couple of hours in my home last year, when our _guests_ were present – would you want to go back?"

It didn't take much effort for Harry to remember Hermione's screams, the cold silver hand against his skin, and the crash of broken glass – after all, he revisited them in his nightmares most evenings. He shivered – not even the warmth of the nearby fire was enough to stop it.

"Yes, well I spent a year there," Malfoy replied, evidently taking that as Harry's answer. "So you can imagine how keen I am to go back."

Before Harry could do more than nod in understanding, Malfoy seemed to stiffen in front of his eyes – almost as if he realised he had shared too much, and with Harry of all people. He gave himself a visible shake, muttered something about an appointment with a Goblin and then headed towards the door with the briefest of goodbyes.

Harry watched him go for a moment, before the empty glass in his hand reminded him of his original intent.

"Not giving you any trouble, was he?" 

Harry looked up in surprise to be met by the concerned expression of Tom the landlord. "What? No." Harry shook his head emphatically. "We were just talking."

Some of the concern eased from Tom's expression. "Good. Last thing I need is more complaints."

Harry felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. "He's causing trouble?" He glanced over his shoulder at the door Malfoy had just left through. "He doesn't look like he has it in him anymore."

Tom shook his head. "Nah, he's as quiet as a mouse, that one. It's the others making all the fuss."

Harry looked round the room and could still see several disgruntled occupants watching him and Tom carefully. "They don't want him here?"

"That's putting it mildly." Tom began wiping the bar with a cloth that looked to have seen better days. "There's a lot of bad feeling even after all this time. People think he should be in Azkaban – him and his family. I've already lost a few customers over it." He stopped then and tossed the cloth into the sink rather forcefully. "I've got nothing against the lad meself, but if this keeps up, I'll have to ask him to leave."

Harry couldn't help but remember Malfoy's expression when he'd talked about living at Malfoy Manor, and couldn't help feel sympathetic at the prospect he'd be forced to return. Living somewhere so full of unhappy memories wasn't good for anyone. And after moving into Grimmauld Place at the end of the war, Harry knew all about that.

-*-*-*-

Despite his unexpected burst of empathy, Harry didn't think much about Malfoy over the coming weeks. Not that he had much time to think of anything at all with the way the Auror training instructors seemed intent on working them.

In some ways it was good. There were nights when Harry barely managed to drag his aching muscles into bed after the day's workout, and such was his exhaustion that he actually managed three or four hours straight sleep before the dreams started. But other nights he would lay there wide awake, trying to work out what the hell was wrong with him. Being an Auror was his dream – Ron loved it, his dad and Sirius had too, by all accounts – so why couldn't it be enough for him?

Everything he did seemed like it was too much, and yet nowhere near enough at the same time.

It had been a particularly long and tiring week. The new Dark Arts instructor at work had taken against Harry in a way that reminded him too much of Snape and Potions class. Only Harry wasn't a small child any more, he didn't _have_ to be there, and the temptation to say 'fuck it all' and leave was a struggle he wasn't sure he had the energy to fight much longer.

Added to that, Ron and Hermione had decided to get engaged. Which was great. He was happy for his friends, truly. But it had just led to a round of parties and celebrations that he really didn't want to go to – they were little more than opportunities for him to feel alone in a crowd, and reinforce how very much he was being outgrown.

So Saturday morning he made his way into Diagon Alley – early, so as to avoid the crowds – and headed straight for the Apothecary. Harry wasn't happy with his planned course of action at all, but the way things were going, Dreamless Sleep was the only option open to him if he didn't want to collapse from exhaustion at some point.

He just had to make sure Hermione didn't find out.

He hadn't counted on bumping into Draco Malfoy. Again.

And a Draco Malfoy currently wearing the very distinctive maroon robes of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes at that.

Struck a little dumb at the sight, Harry stared in lieu of words. Malfoy, having spotted Harry at much the same time, shifted uncomfortably in his position by the till. At first, Harry suspected it was embarrassment at being caught in his new uniform, but then he spotted a familiar potion bottle in Malfoy's hand. What kind of world was it when he had more in common with Draco Malfoy then he did his best friends?

"You're working for George?" he managed to say at last, instead of a greeting.

"Yes." Much like last time they had met, Malfoy managed to make that word sound like a challenge.

Harry handed his money over the counter to the waiting assistant. "He never said. George, I mean."

"Does he need your permission before he hires someone, then?" 

Harry suspected Malfoy was going for sarcasm, but it came out as much more defensive. So instead of biting back, he just smiled. "Well, I am a partner in the business – even if it is a silent one."

"Oh." Malfoy expression fell, and his posture followed suit.

Harry felt almost guilty. "Relax, I'm not about to tell him to sack you. I just never expected to see you working in a shop of all places."

"I like to keep busy," Malfoy replied, before taking his turn at the counter. "Besides, flats don't pay for themselves."

"Flat? I thought you were staying at the Leaky."

Malfoy's expression darkened. "I am. However, I have been asked to leave. Politely done, mind you, but asked to leave nonetheless. Apparently having me there is bad for business. I don't suppose you know anyone looking for a flatmate?"

It was said without any expectation of a positive answer, but Harry racked his brain anyway. He thought firstly of the spare room in George's flat, but dismissed it instantly. George was making an effort lately, but Harry had a strong suspicion that that room remained the same as it had when Fred left it. It occurred to Harry that he was rattling around in a big house, which seemed even bigger and more lonely since Ron left.

"Maybe," he said slowly.

Malfoy looked as shocked as Harry felt to be saying it. "Really?"

"Yeah, maybe." Harry rubbed at his face and wondered if Kreacher had slipped crazy pills in his porridge that morning. "Can I get back to you on it?"

Malfoy nodded, a faintly stunned expression on his face. "Of course.

Harry bid him a quick farewell and headed swiftly for the door. He needed to speak with George before he made any firm decisions.

-*-*-*-

"You've gone mad. Certifiable." Ron's face had turned a shade of red not that far from the colour of his hair. "First Hermione, then George, and now you. What the hell is wrong with you all?"

Harry tried his hardest to hide a wince – his head had been throbbing all morning, and the volume of Ron's rant really wasn't helping. "Keep it down. He'll hear you."

"I don't bloody care," Ron spluttered.

"Well, I do." Hermione gave Ron a rather sharp dig of her elbow. "Draco's changed, Ron. I've told you that." She paused then and turned to Harry, a speculative expression on her face. "I must admit I was surprised at first, but it is a very _you_ thing to do."

Harry flushed at the implication. "I'm not trying to save him."

Hermione inclined her head but didn't look convinced. "Anyway, Ron and I just popped round to invite you over to ours next Saturday – we hardly ever see you nowadays. You could bring Draco with you," she added brightly.

"What?" Harry wasn't sure if he or Ron had said it louder, but Hermione was unperturbed.

"Why not? If he's going to be living here then you're all going to have to learn to get along. And that includes you, Ronald."

Ron's expression spoke volumes about the possibility of that happening. Harry wasn't even sure he and Malfoy got along yet, and there were generations of feuding Weasleys and Malfoys to overcome.

Hermione shook her head, a _what am I going to do with you_ expression on her face, and hustled Ron towards the fireplace. "We're off to Molly and Arthur's for lunch now. But don't forget about Saturday."

The green of the flames behind them was just fading when George poked his head into the room.  
"It safe to come in yet?" he asked, a wry smile on his face.

Harry rubbed at the back of his neck and nodded faintly. "Yeah, I reckon."

George crossed the room at gave Harry a pat on the shoulder. "He's all settled in, so I'm going to head off now. If I'm late for lunch, Mum'll..." 

He didn't need to finish the sentence – Harry knew only too well the risk of incurring Molly's wrath. "Thanks."

"Thank _you_ ," George replied, his tone taking a serious turn. "You did a good thing here, Harry. Not many people would have helped Malfoy out, especially considering your history."

Harry shrugged – gratitude always made him uncomfortable.

"Don't worry about Ron," George continued as he turned towards the fireplace. "He'll get used to it."

 _But will I?_ Harry wondered silently as the flames burst green once again.

He was about to sink onto the sofa and ponder, for the millionth time, just what the hell he had been thinking, asking Draco Malfoy to move in with him. But a pop announced Kreacher's arrival, and a welcome distraction.

"Can Kreacher be getting Master anything?"

With the _excitement_ of the day, Harry really hadn't been keeping track of time. A quick glance at his watch explained why his stomach felt empty. 

"Kreacher has baked a ginger cake," the elf continued before Harry could reply. "It is being Master Malfoy's favourite," he added proudly.

"That would be great, Kreacher. Thank you." Harry shook his head slowly as the elf left the room – Malfoy had only been in the house five minutes and already he had their house-elf running round after him.

He left the drawing room and headed up the stairs to what had once been Remus's room. Harry had struggled initially with the decision – it felt wrong, somehow – but keeping a shrine wasn't going to bring his friend back.

Harry knocked. Then waited

"It's your house, Potter. You can come in."

"But it's your room," Harry replied as he pushed the door open. He was surprised to see how little stuff Malfoy appeared to have. "Is this everything?"

Malfoy gazed around at the bare surfaces. "There wasn't much point until I was settled somewhere. I'll ask Mother to send some things along now I'm here, if that's okay?"

"Of course." Harry might still be second-guessing his decision, but he'd made a commitment to Malfoy and had no intention of going back on it. "There's some tea in the kitchen when you're ready. Apparently you're a big fan of ginger cake?"

Malfoy smiled then, much to Harry's surprise. It was an expression he wasn't used to seeing on Malfoy's face, and certainly not directed at him. He thought he could get used to it.

"Thank you, Potter." Malfoy said, as Harry turned towards the door, and Harry knew he was talking about more than the food.

"It's nothing," Harry replied uneasily, and wished people would stop saying that, however polite it may be.

"It is to me," Malfoy said softly as Harry closed the door behind him.

-*-*-*-

"Good morning."

Harry looked up as the kitchen door opened and couldn't help but smile at the picture Malfoy made. Even in the maroon WWW robes – which he detested, if his rants on the subject were to be believed – Harry had never seen Malfoy less than impeccably turned out. So this sleepy, rumpled, pyjama-clad version in front of him was a sight to behold.

"Not a word, Potter." Malfoy sat down and wrapped his hands promptly around the steaming mug of coffee in his place. He watched Harry over the brim with narrowed eyes, almost as if he could read his thoughts.

Harry bit back on a number of possible comments, and settled on "Sleep well?"

"With a little help," Malfoy replied, with the brutal honesty that Harry was coming to find was characteristic of him. "You?"

"Same," Harry replied, figuring it would be churlish to respond with anything other than the truth.

Malfoy nodded but made no comment. "Are you finished with that?" he asked, stretching out to take the _Prophet's_ Sunday supplement.

Harry never read the damn thing – his life had featured one too many times on the glossy rag's pages for his liking – so he pushed it in Malfoy's direction. 

Despite his initial concerns, over the last few weeks Harry had found that living with Malfoy had gone surprisingly smoothly. Malfoy was certainly easier to live with than he’d expected, and Harry couldn't deny how much better he felt having another person in the house again. It stopped the walls from closing in quite so much.

They didn't see a huge amount of each other, especially with Harry's training schedule which seemed to get more intense with every passing week. But moments like this, quiet, shared meals, with easy conversation, were becoming a bright spot in Harry's otherwise bleak existence.

"You're late this morning," Malfoy commented, tearing himself away from celebrity gossip – a pleasure of his that Harry found singularly amusing and very possibly endearing at the same time, not that he would admit it out loud.

"Don't have to be in till midday," Harry replied, words muffled around a mouthful of toast. "Night-time stealth training."

Malfoy wrinkled his nose – a response, Harry knew, to his table manners. "Sounds like fun," he said, in a voice that clearly said it did _not_.

Harry smiled despite himself. It was nice to be around someone who didn't consider Auror training the be-all and end-all of life – Ron would never understand Harry's hesitancy about the job; not because he didn't want to, he just couldn't get his head around it.

"What about you?" he asked, taking a gulp of coffee that he hoped would ease his headache. "George got you playing guinea pig again today?"

From the mixture of feigned outrage and amusement on Malfoy's face, Harry knew they were both thinking of last Thursday when Malfoy had come home with orange skin – the result of trusting anything George Weasley gave him to eat.

"Ha ha, Potter. You won't think it so funny when I slip some of that in your coffee."

"Kreacher wouldn't let you," Harry replied, with more confidence than the expression on his elf's face told him he had a right to feel.

"You keep telling yourself that." Malfoy turned his attention back to his magazine, but the corners of his lips were still turned upwards in amusement.

Harry wrapped his hands around his mug for warmth and leant back in his chair. It was nice that there was at least one decision he had made recently that he didn't regret.

-*-*-*-

Harry jumped up from his perch on the edge of the sofa the instant the fire's flames turned green. "Are you okay?" He made no effort the hide the concern that had taken hold of him since the moment George had Flooed him earlier.

Malfoy stepped unsteadily from the fireplace. His tired expression flitting to one of gratitude when Harry held out an arm to steady him. "You heard then?"

Once he was sure Malfoy was settled on his own two feet, Harry stepped back slightly and nodded. "George called earlier while you were at St. Mungo's. How bad is it?" His eyes roved over Malfoy's form looking for any sign of injury.

Malfoy shrugged, and then winced at the action. "I'll live," was all he said.

"You should sit." Harry gestured to the sofa he'd recently vacated. "D'you want a drink?"

Malfoy looked from the opened bottle to Harry's face. "Firewhiskey, Potter? It's a bit early for that, isn't it?"

Harry shrugged this time, and didn't bother to admit he'd opened the bottle within minutes of hearing the news. He wasn't quite ready to examine the extent of his concern just yet.

Malfoy sighed and sank down into the soft leather seat. His expression, when he met Harry's gaze was bleak. "Go on then," he said, and gestured vaguely at the bottle with his hand.

Harry started to pour and then stopped halfway. "Are you on painkilling potions?"

"It's the only reason I'm walking around." 

Malfoy's laugh was bitter and something clenched in Harry's chest. "Maybe you shouldn't then," he said, with a rueful glance at the drink.

"Sod that." Malfoy sat forward, and his expression clearly told what a mistake that was. "I need all the numbing I can get today."

Despite his better judgement, or perhaps because he knew exactly what that felt like, Harry filled the glass the rest of the way and then sat back down himself. "George said it was Crabbe's mum," he said after a moment's silence.

"And his brother."

"But why?" Harry couldn't ever imagine the Weasleys turning on him, and this was surely the same thing. When there was no reply, he turned to Malfoy and found him draining the last of his drink.

"They have to blame someone, I suppose." Malfoy sounded so tired, so sad, that Harry didn't protest when he held his glass out for a refill. 

"But it was Crabbe who—"

"He's dead though, isn't he." In the time that they'd lived together, both of them had skirted very carefully around certain topics, and this was the first time Harry had heard Malfoy mention his dead friend since the trial. "They can hardly blame him."

"But why you? Why not his father? He was the Death Eater in the family."

Malfoy managed to stop himself mid-shrug this time. "I've become something of a scapegoat this last year, or hadn't you noticed."

Harry thought back to the angry glares in the Leaky, to the stories George had told him about disgruntled customers, and didn't argue the point. "It's not right, though," he insisted.

Malfoy sighed and drank again. "It's not like I'm blameless though," he admitted with an honesty that Harry would have found admirable if he wasn't so outraged on his behalf.

"But you didn't—"

"I know." Malfoy placed a stilling hand on Harry's arm, and Harry found he couldn't look away. "But her son is dead and her husband is in Azkaban, and then there's me, walking around free. I suppose you can't blame her, really."

"I bloody well can. She raised him like that. Her and her husband. They've only got themselves to blame."

A slow smile spread over Malfoy's face, and Harry couldn't tell if it was that or the Firewhiskey that warmed him. 

"You're a good man, Potter," Malfoy murmured as he rested his head against the back of the sofa.

Somehow Harry didn't mind the words coming from him. If anything, they meant more, considering who they'd both once been. He didn't know what to say in return though, so instead of ruining the moment, he leant back and closed his eyes, and enjoyed the sensation.

The comfortable silence stretched onwards before them, and it wasn't until he felt a shift at his side and a weight on his shoulder, that Harry realised Malfoy had fallen asleep. 

He stilled at the realisation of Malfoy's head on his shoulder, uncertain of how to respond. He could only imagine Ron's reaction if he came through the Floo now. But instead of shifting as common sense told him he should, Harry just reached over, removed the empty glass from Malfoy's hand and placed it securely on the table beside them. Then he followed suit with his glasses, before settling back and allowing his own much-needed slumber to take hold.

-*-*-*-

When Harry woke the next morning, he had a stiff neck, a pounding head, and his mouth felt like something very unpleasant had died in it. It took a moment for him to realise where he was, and then a moment after that for him to realise that he was alone.

He locked his reaction to that firmly away with all the other reactions he'd been having lately that he wasn't ready to examine yet. Instead, he got carefully to his feet, ran a shaky hand through his undoubtedly messy hair, and shuffled off to the kitchen in search of caffeine.

Harry had barely filled his mug from the waiting pot before the door opened and Malfoy appeared. Any awkwardness Harry had been expecting was stalled in its tracks by the sight of a livid bruise on the pale skin of Malfoy's jaw. Without thinking, Harry reached out to touch it gently.

"That looks bad," he said, eyes fixed on Malfoy for any sign of pain.

Malfoy didn't answer straight away. He held Harry's gaze steadily, eyes wide with something indefinable. They were having what Hermione would have called _a moment_ , Harry knew that. But he couldn't for the life of him think how it could possibly end well.

Fortunately, Kreacher was no great respecter of moments, apparently. And a loud crash of saucepans behind them shattered the connection. 

"It looks worse than it is," Malfoy replied finally, as he stepped away from Harry and over to the table. "You're going to be late for work," he added, not quite meeting Harry's gaze.

Harry sank into a chair and inhaled his coffee like it held the answers to everything. He couldn't face training today, not when it felt like his brain was trying to hammer its way through his skull. He said as much, and found Malfoy watching him curiously in reply. "What?"

"Why do you bother going at all? You clearly don't enjoy it."

It was a question Harry had been asking himself for months now, and he was no nearer answering the question. "What else is there for me to do?"

Malfoy's eyes widened in surprise. "Anything. The world's your oyster, as they say."

"What about you?" Harry really didn't feel up for this conversation right now. "I hardly think working for George was your dream job."

Malfoy inclined his head in acknowledgement of Harry's point. "Unlike you, my options have been somewhat limited by my past."

Harry sat back in his chair, arms folded defensively. "Yeah, well, believe it or not, so have mine."

-*-*-*-

Harry came home from work a couple of nights later to find Hermione and Malfoy in the kitchen, heads together over coffee and biscuits – thick as thieves in a way that would give Ron a stroke if he saw it.

The conversation died off as Harry entered the room.

"Evening, Potter." Malfoy got to his feet. "I'll see you later, Hermione," he added, and then promptly left the room.

"Something I said?" Harry enquired, somewhat nervously, because Hermione had _that_ look on her face.

"How are you doing, Harry? Ron said you were off sick on Tuesday – are you feeling better?"

"I'm fine," Harry lied, and hoped he wasn't about to be lectured on the evils of alcohol.

"You don't look fine," Hermione replied, her gaze pinning Harry to the spot. "Are you sleeping all right?"

Harry poured himself a coffee from the ever-present pot and sank into Malfoy's recently vacated chair. "Yes."

"Really?" 

Harry huffed. He recognised the tone and the expression and knew he was going to have to admit something to get Hermione to leave.

"Off and on," he said begrudgingly.

"Harry—"

"I'm fine."

"You're not." The _don't lie to me_ was implied but unspoken. Hermione slid her hand over to take hold of his free one. "You don't look happy."

Harry bit off another 'I'm fine', and instead opted for, "I've just got things on my mind."

"Such as?" Hermione leant forward, her interest clearly piqued, and Harry didn't miss the way her eyes flicked towards the kitchen door.

Harry remained silent for a moment. He'd wanted to say this out loud for some time now, but he was scared of what would happen once he did. But of all people he could trust Hermione not to overreact.

"What would you say if I told you I was thinking of dropping out of Auror training?"

"Good."

"Huh?" Harry started in surprise and splashed coffee over the table.

Hermione removed her wand and quickly siphoned the mess away. "I'd say good," she repeated.

"But I thought—"

"Thought what?" she asked, her eyes narrowed slightly.

"What about Ron?" This wasn't the reaction Harry had expected at all, and stringing coherent sentences together was becoming a bit of an issue.

"Ron'll get over it." Hermione let out a small laugh before adding, "Eventually. He wants you to be happy, Harry, that's all. And if even Ron can see that you're not, well..."

Harry put down his mug and rubbed at his face in vain effort to clear his brain. "It's just...my dad, and Sirius—"

"Would want you to be happy, too. However that happens." She followed this up with another glance towards the door.

Harry decidedly ignored her hints – he was already confused enough without going there. "I haven't made my mind up yet."

From the expression on Hermione's face, Harry knew his lie had failed.

-*-*-*-

"Potter! Potter! Wake up."

Harry felt hands on his shoulders, shaking him, pulling him from the nightmare that had him in its grip.

"It's just a dream, Harry." 

He felt a cool hand press against his forehead, pushing damp hair back from his face, as he struggled to open his eyes.

"Wake up, idiot."

There was no mistaking the voice that time. Even with the surprising affection in the tone. Harry smiled sleepily and opened his eyes. In the dim light of his bedroom he could make out Malfoy's face, mere inches from his own. And the concern writ there was obvious.

Half-asleep still, and free from the inhibitions that usually plagued him, it seemed the natural thing to do for Harry to raise his head slightly and press his lips to Malfoy's.

It was only brief, a matter of seconds really, before Harry laid his head back against the pillows again, smiling broadly.

Malfoy, on the other hand, remained frozen. His mouth open in shock.

"Close your mouth," Harry murmured, nestling under the sheets.

"Close my...you just kissed me!" Malfoy's pitch was noticeably higher than usual, even if he was trying to keep his volume low.

"Shh," Harry said, his eyes drifting closed again. "Sleep." And to further indicate what he meant, he patted his hand on the mattress at his side.

Harry heard a huff, followed by indecipherable muttering. But just as sleep claimed him, he felt the definite shifting of the mattress and the weight of a head on the pillow next to him.

-*-*-*-

It was dinner time the following evening before they saw each other again. Draco – Harry didn't think he could continue referring to him as Malfoy anymore – was seated at the table, a frown creasing his brow. A frown that deepened when Harry smiled and took the seat opposite.

"Hi," Harry said softly. He'd played this moment over in his mind countless times throughout the day, and he was still no closer to knowing how it would go.

"Hi? That's all you've got to say for yourself?" Draco's frown had morphed into something more like outrage.

Harry noticed Kreacher edging out of the room silently. _Traitor_ , he thought. But Draco's next words regained his focus.

"Aren't we even going to talk about this?"

"What?" Harry knew damn well what Draco was referring to, but he was nervous and trying to buy himself time.

"You _kissed_ me." Draco didn't look angry anymore so much as exasperated.

"You didn't seem to mind at the time." This wasn't necessarily true, because Harry had only been half asleep, but Draco's lips certainly hadn't objected.

"I was shocked."

"And now?" Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, but he _had_ to ask.

Draco huffed and looked anywhere but at Harry. "That's not the point."

Harry's brown creased in confusion. "Then what is?"

"You can't just do something like that and then disappear. Where have you been all day?" 

Harry winced. He had considered waking Draco before he left, but he hadn't wanted to give himself time to change his mind. "At the Ministry."

"It's your day off." Both Draco's tone and expression held accusation.

"I had some papers to fill in. And I had to see Kingsley."

"And it couldn't have waited?"

Harry shook his head emphatically. His only regret was that he'd waited so long. "I quit, Draco." Harry paused for a moment to enjoy the surprise on Draco's face at hearing his first name used, then, to make his point, added, "I dropped out of Auror training."

Draco's face was even more stunned thant it had been after Harry kissed him. "But I didn't think you'd made your mind up yet."

"I have. It's done."

Draco sat back in his chair and stared at him wordlessly for a moment. "So what are you going to do with yourself now?"

Harry grinned and got up from his chair – this was one question he really did know the answer to. He walked around the table and pulled Draco to his feet as well. "I thought I'd start with this," he said, sliding one hand around the back of Draco's neck and pulling him in close. "Unless you have any objections."

For once in his life, Draco didn't.


End file.
